Nightmares and Daydreams
by Impalas-Wings
Summary: When Dean comes back from purgatory, the first thing he does is to go and find Sam. When he does, he finds that Sam no longer remembers him, or all that they've done together. Rating mostly for language, but I might include some adultrated stuff. Wincest, angst.
1. Path of freedom

As soon as Benny's gone, Dean knows he has to find Sam. That's all that's on his mind right now. Find Sam, and everything will be okay.

He walks to the nearest town, it's a hell of a walk, but nothing compared to purgatory, of course. He pickpockets some rich-looking guy and spends a few coins in the nearest phone booth. He still knows Sam's number by heart, even after a year. Sam doesn't answer his phone, though. It goes straight to voicemail. Dean's stomach clenches - what if something's happened to him? - but he still leaves a message.  
"Heya, Sammy," he says a little awkwardly. "It's uh. It's me, it's Dean. I'm back. Uhm. I'll uh. I'll call back later, I just, uh. Yeah. Bye."  
Well, that could've gone better, Dean thinks as he hangs up. He stares at the phone, wondering who else he could call. Bobby - dead. Ash - dead. Pamela - dead. Ellen and Jo - dead. Frank - dead.  
He could call Benny, but he hasn't got Benny's number, and Benny knows he's back already anyway.  
All his friends are dead. It's a depressing thought.  
He feels utterly and completely lost now. What is he supposed to do? Sam isn't picking up his phone, there isn't anyone else he could call and he really doesn't have a clue where he is. Should've paid attention to that, but then, all he could think of was talking to Sam.

He wanders around the town - Mill Valley, he'd found out - without a clue what he's doing or where he's going, until he spots a bar and stops dead in his tracks. That is what he used to do, isn't it? Going to a bar, getting hammered and waking up the next morning next to a girl whose name he didn't remember. Two girls, if he was lucky. He hasn't had that for over a year. He realizes he can't remember what that's like.  
His feet carry him across the street and into the bar before he consciously makes the decision.

The girl behind the bar smiles at him as he sits down and orders whatever the fuck's got alcohol in it. "Rough day?" she asks sympathetically.  
Really, it's a simple enough question, but it makes his brain - which wasn't working all that hard anyways - come to a screeching halt. No, no, it hadn't been a rough day. He's had rough days for over a year, fighting his way through purgatory, but in that year, he's never been so fucking _tired_ as he is now. And he hasn't even done anything.  
"You could say that," is what he says.  
She sets a glass down in front of him. He takes it and downs the contents without really tasting it, or caring what it is. He asks anyway.  
"Kamikaze," she replies. "Vodka, triple sec and lime juice. 'S what my ex used to drink when he felt like crap, which, incidentally, you look like."  
"That line work well for you?" Dean asks. She smirks and turns to serve another customer. He looks at her. She's pretty. Blonde hair bound into a messy ponytail and a lovely petite form. Maybe he could hang around until she got off.

He briefly wonders if it used to feel like this. So... forced. As if he had to take a girl to the motel, or he failed. He doesn't dwell long on that, though, because it brings him to the next point: he still has to find a motel room for the night, and maybe the one after that. God knows how long. Until Sam can come and get him, he supposes.

He's jerked out of his thoughts when the girl sets another glass in front of him. "I didn't order that," he says stupidly.  
"That one's from me," she says. "You look like you need it."  
Dean grimaces.  
"Wanna talk about it?" she asks.  
Dean snorts. Yeah right. _Well, I've been in purgatory past year and I've only just gotten out, with the help of a vampire and an angel, also, my friends are all dead and my baby brother isn't picking up the phone_. That would go over well.  
"Come on," she pushes. "I'm a barmaid, it's what we're for."

He looks at her, at her pretty doll-face and big brown eyes and decides _what the hell_.  
He doesn't actually tell her the truth, of course. He tells her that he's a soldier, that he just came back from Afghanistan because he got shot in the kneecap. He tells her about Benny and Castiel, not about what they are, but about what they've been through. He tells her about Sam, how he's the only thing he's got left.  
She, in turn, tells him her name - Katy - and she tells him about her ex-boyfriend, who used to beat her when he was drunk, about her schizophrenic mother and her absent father, about her foster family and about her little sister - he doesn't quite catch if it's her real sister or her foster sister.  
He drinks a few more Kamikazes, and when a stag party comes in, and Katy leaves to attend to them with an apologetic smile his way, he decides to leave. He throws a few bills on the table, enough for the drinks and a generous tip - it isn't his money anyway - and waves at Katy before turning and walking out the door.

The motel room isn't anything special. It's not very clean, the sheets are scratchy and the mattress is bulky, but to Dean it's a treasure. He sits on the bed, still fully dressed, as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that this is where he's going to sleep. For the first time in over a year, he can actually have a full night's _sleep_ in a_ bed_, a proper bed in a proper room, with a bathroom right next to it. A real, proper bathroom with a toilet and a sink and a shower and holy _hell_. This must be heaven.  
He undresses on his way to the bathroom, leaving clothes strewn everywhere, just because he can. The water is warm and soothing, and Dean realizes just how sore he is.  
He expects to sleep like the dead that night, but he's wrong. For a long time, he lies awake, staring at the ceiling and jumping out of his skin every time a car passes. When sleep finally does find him, light is already seeping through the curtains.

He sleeps for six hours, but is well-rested when he wakes up. He's never needed much sleep. He showers again and gets dressed, but then he finds himself in the same state as last night. What now?  
His stomach rumbles. Breakfast, he decides, then try calling Sam again. His spirits lift at the thought of breakfast. Eggs, bacon and coffee sound amazing.

After a delicious - to Dean at least - breakfast, he finds himself in a phone booth again, dialling Sam's number. Voicemail, again.  
"Hey, Sam, it's Dean again," Dean says. "What's wrong dude, you always answer your phone. If you hear this, I'm in Cali, in a town called Mill Valley, and I guess I'll stay here for a while. So, uh. Come get me."

He hangs up, feeling dejected and a little bit worried. Sam is such a control freak, there's just no way he wouldn't pick up the phone for no reason. Maybe something's happened to him. But then again, it's been a year. Maybe he's just got a new phone. Which would be inconvenient.  
Either way, he's still stuck in Mill Valley, with no idea how to reach Sam and no idea what he's going to do next.

He ends up wandering around town again, pickpocketing a few other people until he has enough money to buy a cheap cellphone.

When he's back at the motel, he calls Sam again, not expecting him to pick up, but just wanting to leave his number. He's right, Sam still doesn't answer and Dean's stomach clenches at that.  
"Hey Sam, it's me again. I've got a cell, so I just wanted to give you the number so you can call when you hear this."  
He falls back onto the bed and rubs his eyes. A nap seems like a kinda good idea.


	2. Lost in oblivion

He wakes up with a massive headache, worse than any hangover he can remember having. Which is... none. He blinks his eyes and tries to remember last night, coming up blank. He sits up and looks around. It's a little dark, but he can't tell if it's dusk or dawn. He is in an alleyway, next to what seems like the back door of a club. Maybe he fucked someone here last night - or got fucked, but he thinks he'd feel that - and maybe it'd been so good he forgot his own name - which he has.  
He tries to think, but really, it's a lost cause with a headache like this. He does panic a little. Why can't he remember who he is? That's when his common sense - well, at least he has that - kicks in and he pats his pockets, looking for maybe a wallet or a phone, some sort of identification.  
He finds a brown leather wallet and eagerly looks inside. There's some dollar bills and a few coins, also half a dozen credit cards with a different name on each. There's no ID. He looks at the names, hoping that maybe one of them will look familiar to him. Keith Wallace, Thomas Milligan, Jared Milton, Sam Winchester, Robert Monroe and Frank Adler. He recognizes none of them. He rubs his eyes. That goddamned headache.

_Four months later_

He still doesn't remember who he is. Or rather, who he used to be, because in these four months, he's been trying to start a new life as Keith Wallace. He works as a repairman (glorified janitor) at a motel and stays there too.  
Every morning, he stares at himself in the mirror, examining his every feature, hoping that maybe he'll see something that triggers a memory. At first it's been weird and a little terrifying, looking in the mirror and not recognizing the face that was staring back at him.

He knows a few things about his past-self now. He has killer reflexes and knows how to fight. He used to be some kind of credit card fraud or something like that, if his wallet is anything to go by. He knows how to work with his hands, even with small things, which is surprising, given the size of his hands. Also, he's a fucking moose.  
Now, he's just Keith, amnesiac, still a moose. He's made a few friends, and he actually thinks he could be happy like this, even if he never finds out who he actually is. Maybe his lost memory is fate. A chance to start afresh.  
He just doesn't know what to do next. He doesn't dare to try and move forward - maybe get a place of his own, a better job, a girlfriend - because he doesn't know what'll happen to all that if he does find out who he was before. He doesn't know if he'll want that life back, or if he'll want to stay, but he doesn't want to build up a life, only to risk losing it.  
On the other hand, he doesn't want to just do nothing and end up never remembering and having wasted his life.

He pulls on his jacket and leaves his motel room. He can't stand to be alone for too long with nothing to do, it makes him go a little crazy.  
He goes to the reception, hoping maybe Jack - the manager - will have something for him to do. It's actually his day off, but he'd rather work than sit inside his own broken mind all day.

"It's your day off, isn't it?" says Jack when he asks.  
He shrugs. "I was bored."  
Jack quirks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, instead turns to the computer and scrolls through the various complaints.  
"There's something wrong with the lights in room 12," he says. "I was going to check it out myself later, but I'm pretty busy, so I'd appreciate it if you could do it."  
"I'm on it."

Keith grabs his kit from the broom cupboard and heads to room 12. That's the beauty of this motel: there's always something that needs fixing.

That thought triggers a faint memory. It's dim and unclear, but his stomach clenches when he realizes that while he's the one fixing everything now, he used to be the one to fuck everything up. To break things.  
He remembers that he broke something, something important, so very important, but he doesn't remember what. He just knows that he broke it, not even on purpose, but it was still his fault, and the consequences were terrible, horrible, catastrophic, apocalyptic. Somehow that last one makes the most sense, although he can't understand why that is.

He's jerked out of his thoughts, when Sally, the girl who stays in room 9, touches his shoulder gently, with a worried frown on her face.  
"You okay?" she asks.  
He nods, a little bewildered. "Yeah I -"  
Where had that - that feeling, that memory - where had that come from?  
He shakes his head to clear his mind.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he tells Sally. "Just tired. Didn't sleep all too well."  
She eyes him a little warily, but lets it go. "Alright," she says. "Well, if you're not too busy, I think my air conditioning is broken, so can you take a look at it?"  
Right. Work.  
"Sure," he says. "Just have to fix the lights in 12, then I'll take a look."  
She smiles. "Okay, thanks."  
"No problem."

Not with that anyway.


	3. Crossed Roads

_Stupid fucking lights_, Dean thinks when they blink out and back on for the third time that morning. He'd told the manager about it, but apparently the repairman had a day off.  
He pulls his phone out for the sixth time today, and stares at the only contact stored in it, the only person alive that he knows and trusts and likes - no, loves - and who won't fucking answer the phone. Sam. Should he call again? It's not like it would actually matter. Sam has probably ditched his phone, otherwise he would've checked his messages and called back by now. That, or something's happened to him and he simply can't get to the phone. That's something Dean doesn't want to think about, because then he has no way of reaching Sam, no way of knowing where he is, no way of saving him. So of course, it's on his mind all the fucking time.  
His brain keeps coming up with horrifying images: Sammy, bleeding out in an abandoned warehouse; Sammy, drained by a vampire; Sammy's heart torn out by a werewolf; Sammy's neck snapped in half by a demon; Sammy still alive, but half-eaten by a wendigo; Sammy, dead; Sammy, hurt; Sammy, killed; Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.  
The idea alone is driving Dean crazy, and _god_, he wants a drink. But even Dean knows that drinking at 10 in the morning is something only alcoholics do. Which he isn't.  
So he doesn't have a drink. He goes out for breakfast instead.  
At least, that's what he plans to do, but on his way to the diner, he sees something familiar blocking an alleyway.  
"_Baby_," he breathes. It's dirty and scratched, and the first thing he thinks is _I'm gonna kill Sam for treating my baby like this_, but it's definitely his Impala. But then he realizes what this means.  
One, Sam is, or at least was, here.  
Two, Sam would never voluntarily ditch the Impala (or he better not, because if he did, Dean is going to kill him).  
Three, if the Impala is here, in this state, and Sam didn't willingly leave it there, something has happened to Sam.  
His stomach drops. _Fuck_.

***

The lights aren't a problem, just a case of a wire gone loose. Whoever stays in room 12 is weird though. Creepy, even. There are lines of salt on the window, and Keith knows he shouldn't look at the guy's possessions, but there was something sticking out from under the bed and he couldn't help but pull it out. Now he regrets it. It's clearly a weapon, but it looks horrifying. It's huge and sharp and looks well-used. Who the fuck is this guy?  
He shoves the thing back under the bed. Then something catches his eye. A piece of paper, a photograph, stuck under the bedside table. He pulls it out, curious.  
_Fuck_, is what he thinks.  
In the photograph is him, with a few other people.  
He's in the back, being the tallest.  
Half in front of him, is a guy with black hair and a trenchcoat. He has his tie tied backwards.  
Next to Keith is another guy, also in the back. He has short hair and it looks like he and Keith have their arm around the other's shoulder.  
In front of both of them is a woman. She has long hair and a jacket.  
Next to the man in the back is a younger girl, probably in her twenties. The man with the short hair has his arm around her.  
In front of her is an older dude, sitting in a chair. He has a beard and a baseball cap.  
All of them don't really look like they have much fun in their lives. They look close though. Like a family.  
_Fuck_, he thinks again.  
He sits on the bed, blinking stupidly, his mind going a thousand miles an hour. This guy, whoever he is, knows Keith. Knew Keith. From before. Maybe he even came here to look for him. He can find out who he is.  
Then he thinks about the weapon that is right beneath him, underneath the bed, and suddenly he isn't so sure he wants to anymore.  
Who the hell is he, hanging out with people that carry weapons that look like they were forged in the breath of the devil himself, or at least come directly from Satan's cage.  
What he does know, is that he has to get the hell out of this room, before the guy comes back and recognizes him.  
He stuffs the picture back under the table, leaves the room and unintentionally slams the door behind him. He leans back against it. This guy knows who he is.  
He shakes himself. Work to do.  
Sally tells him he looks like he's seen a ghost, and he just shrugs, but can't help but think, as cliché as it is, _a ghost from the past_.

***

Well, at least now he knows Sam has been here. And considering his size, there must be someone who remembers him. He'll ask around.  
His stomach rumbles. Breakfast first.  
He asks the waitress. She thinks she may remember him, but a lot of people come in everyday and to be fair, Dean's description _(A big guy. Like, huge. About yeah high?_ The last sentence said holding his hand a few inches above his head.)  
"Long hair?" he tries, but the girl just shrugs.  
"I guess," she says. "There's someone that looks kinda like that. But I don't know his name or anything, he's only been here a few times."  
Wow, real helpful. He tips her anyway.  
He decides to try the bars next. Sam isn't really the type to hang out there all the time, but if he was miserable (which Dean kind of assumes he was, what with him disappearing and all) he might've gotten drunk a few times.

After breakfast, he checks on his car. She's dirty and scratched, but there doesn't seem to be any major damage. It just looks like she's been standing there for a while. It's a miracle she hasn't got a few parking tickets yet.  
He breaks into it, murmuring "sorry, baby," as he goes. The tank is still half full.  
His heart swells when he gets her started. "I'm_ back_, baby," he says to no one. The engine of the Impala hums approvingly.  
He drives back to the motel and parks her there. He pats the hood a few times, reluctant to leave his car. Which is kinda sad, he knows. He doesn't care, though. At least he's got her back. Now Sam.

***

He hears the engine of an old car and looks out of Sally's window. The car is black and sleek and pretty cool, and Sam rolls his eyes when the guy that emerges from it pats the hood affectionately. Some men just take the love for their car a_ little_ too far.  
When the man turns around, Sam's heart drops and jumps into his throat at the same time. It's the guy from the picture. The one in the back, next to him, the one with his arm wrapped around the girl's shoulders. It's him.  
Part of him wants to turn around, to duck, even, so that the guy won't recognize him. Another part of him wants to run out of the room, and demand to be told who he is.  
He does neither. Instead, he just stands there, hands still holding the now-fixed AC, his mouth half-open.  
_Fuck_, is what he thinks.


	4. Meeting Point

The lights come on immediately. Huh, apparently the repairman came in anyway. Dean checks his salt lines and devil's traps out of routine, then sits on his bed and tugs the old photograph from under the nightstand. God, he's lost everyone.  
Ellen and Jo, sacrificed themselves, and for what? Nothing. Nothing at all.  
Bobby, shot in the head. Fucking_ Dick_.  
Cas, still fighting for his life in purgatory._ I should've gotten him out of there_.  
And Sam. Sam, gone, missing. He'd found Sam's duffel in the car, still packed. He'd found Sam's fake IDs and his clothes and his phones and his weapons and Ruby's knife and Sam's fucking laptop. The control freak would never leave that thing behind.  
Still, at least he's been here, so Dean has something to go on. Not a lot, but something.

**

_Go to him, don't go to him, go to him, don't go to him_. Keith rubs his temples. This guy knows him. Seems familiar with him. Why shouldn't he go to room 12 and just ask? Salt lines, pentagrams, creepy-ass weapon, that's why.  
But he wants to_ know_.  
Maybe he could write a note, slide it under the door. He snorts. Yeah right.

_Hey dude in room 12_  
_I was in your room earlier, to fix the lights, and couldn't help but notice the salt lines and the pentagrams and the creepy weapon under your bed and a picture with me in it. See, I don't remember who I am and you clearly know me, but, well, like I said, creepy weapon, so I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to talk to you in person._

Yeah, that would go over well.  
No, he would wait. Maybe the guy would find him first.

**

Only one bar left and Dean is getting frustrated. None of the employees remembered his brother.  
He opens the door to the bar he'd gone to when he'd arrived here. Behind the bar he sees a blond ponytail and a cute doll face.  
"Hey, Katy, right?"  
She whips around, her face breaking into a smile. "Yeah. Dean, right? What brings you here again?"  
"I'm actually looking for someone. He's like, a giant. Long brown hair. Seen him?"  
"Well, that sounds like Keith," she says, laughing a little. Dean's heart threatens to jump out of his chest. Keith Wallace. That's one of Sam's aliases.  
"He works at the motel a couple blocks from here," she continues. "Been here pretty often past couple of months. The gentle giant."  
Motel a couple blocks from here. "You mean the Fountain motel?"  
She nods. "Works as a janitor, I think. Or maybe repairman or whatever. Something like that."  
"Okay, thanks."

This doesn't make any sense. If Sam's here, if he's okay, if he's working, why did he leave the Impala with all his possessions in that alleyway. And if he's the repairman, that means he's been in Dean's room, that means he must've seen the salt lines and the devil's traps and must know there's a hunter in town. Why hasn't he shown his face? Unless he's decided to leave that life again. To be normal again. If that's the case, should Dean respect that? Should he just leave?  
No. He can't do that. Sam's the only one he's got. Yes, he's selfish, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be alone. He can't be alone. He needs Sam.  
And Sam needs him, he knows it. Sam would want to know that Dean's back, that Dean's alive.

According to the manager, Keith Wallace's been staying in room 24 for a few months now. No one answers when he knocks. He scribbles down a short note to slide under the door and goes back to his room. He'll check back tomorrow.

**

Keith sees the guy coming up to his door through the window. Fuck. What now? Three rapid knocks on the door. _Get up_, he tells himself._ Get up, open the door. Get up_.  
But he doesn't. He sits there on his bed, frozen in place. The seconds tick by. Then he hears some shuffling by the door, and he can see a piece of paper being pushed through the gap between the door and the floor. He doesn't move for a full twenty seconds, until he's sure the guy's gone. Then he dashes forward, quicker than his long limbs should be able to, and snatches the note off the ground.

_Sammy_  
_So I'm back. Missed me? I'm in room 12. What happened, dude?_  
_I'll be around again tomorrow._  
_Dean_

He stares at the names. Sammy, Dean. _Sam Winchester_ was one of the names on his credit cards. Is it his real name? Probably.  
And Dean. _I'm back. Missed me?_ So Dean had been gone. Gone where? He hadn't gone looking for Keith - no,_ Sam_ - because he was missing?  
_What happened, dude?_ He would like to know that himself.  
So what now? Is he supposed to go to him now? Or wait for tomorrow, for Dean to come back? He has no fucking idea. He knows it'll probably come to the latter. He'll just sit here for the rest of the evening, and then the rest of tomorrow until he hears the knock on the door.

And that's what happens. His legs almost refuse to cooperate but he forces himself to stand, to walk the four steps to the door, to raise his hand and open the door.  
Dean. He tries to force his mind to remember the guy in front of him, but there's nothing. Dean's face splits into a huge grin. "_Sammy_, jesus man, I thought you were dead or something."  
Sam's stomach clenches. Shit, he should've thought of what to say.  
He opens his mouth, hoping something will come out. Something does. "I, uh." Well, it's _something_.  
Dean's face falls. "What's wrong?" he asks.  
Sam tries again. "I. I don't," he stammers. _Jesus, talk, for god's sake_. "Who are you?"  
He cringes at his own words as Dean's eyebrows knit together._ Real smooth_.  
"To me, I mean." He isn't usually such a bumbling idiot. Hasn't been in the last four months anyway. "I don't remember," he finally manages. _Now, really, was that so hard?_  
"You don't remember me?" Dean says, hurt evident in both his eyes and voice.  
"No, I. Anything." Apparently he's also lost the ability to speak in whole sentences. "I don't remember anything. At all."


	5. Nightmare (1)

At first he thinks Sam's playing some sick joke on him, and he's not amused. Then he realizes that Sam _really_ doesn't remember and for a second he wonders if he's back in Hell.  
If he hasn't got his baby brother, he's got no one. No one at all.  
"Tell me," Sam says. "Tell me who I am."  
And Dean looks at him, and sees the desperation in his brother's - no, the stranger's eyes. Could he still be in there? He has to be.  
And so he talks. Sam lets him in and gets him a beer and Dean talks. Tells him everything. Tells him about their mother, about their childhood, tells him about Azazel and Ruby and Lilith and the demon blood. Tells him the few things he knows about Jess, tells him about the hunting and the eternal road trip and the monsters and the demons and that time with the Jefferson Starships. Sammy laughs at that (and he mentally has to slap himself for calling this stranger in his brother's body Sammy).  
He tells him about the angels, about Castiel and Uriel and Zachariah, about Gabriel and Michael and Lucifer and the averted apocalypse. Sam laughs quietly at the 'assbutt'.  
About Crowley, about the Leviathan, about Dick, and about how Dick killed Bobby (he thinks he sees Sam in the man's eyes when he mentions that, but he isn't sure).  
Then he talks about Purgatory. He leaves Benny out, though. Sam wouldn't have liked that, and he doesn't think this not-Sam would like it either, after hearing all this.  
"What about Castiel?" not-Sam asks hesitantly when he finishes. It's been dark outside for a few hours already, and the room is littered with beer bottles and take-out boxes.  
Dean looks at his lap and swallows something. "Cas didn't make it," he says curtly. Not-Sam doesn't press further.  
"I still don't remember," he says instead. "I mean, you've told me everything, and I think I believe you, but I haven't got any memories of it."  
"That's alright," Dean says, even though it isn't, not in the slightest. "I didn't expect you to." That isn't necessarily a lie, but that still doesn't mean it's alright. None of this is alright. He wants - needs - his brother back.  
The silence that follows is awkward and full of unasked questions, the most important being  
_So what now?_  
Dean knows what he wants to do. He wants to find out what happened to Sam, what caused this, and then put his brother back to normal. But he doesn't know what Sam wants. Because Sam isn't Sam anymore. But hopefully he's still a Winchester at heart. And Winchesters are curious and stubborn as hell. If not-Sam is still a Winchester, he'll want to know.  
But Dean doesn't dare hope.

***

Sam (it's weird that it's not weird referring to himself as Sam, even though he's spent four months being Keith) doesn't know what to think when his brother (huh, brother. Hadn't guessed that) finishes talking.  
On one hand, he wants to call the mental hospital to take this man in.  
On the other hand, no one could've made all this up. Especially since there are no plot-holes in this guy's story, it all makes sense if you look past the crazy.  
The silence is terrible, because it's pointing out the elephant in the room  
_So what now?_  
He still isn't 100% convinced Dean isn't some nutjob (he's like 93% convinced which makes him wonder if maybe he's the nutjob), but he doesn't want to stay here. This all sounds real enough, and even if it isn't, even if Dean is crazy, he's the only chance Sam has at finding out who he is. He doesn't want to let that slide.  
Dean gets up. "It's getting late," he says. "I guess I'll leave you to it."  
Sam stays where he is as Dean walks to the door. "You know where to find me if you need me," Dean adds, and then he's gone, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.  
He hates himself for it, but he's starting to get convinced this is all true. That he and Dean _are_ hunters, _are_ brothers, that he _was_ supposed to be Lucifer's vessel but said _no_ and that he and Dean and Castiel saved the world.  
He does have a lot of scars, and a life of hunting would account for that. He doesn't mind sleeping in ratty motels and doing crappy jobs as long as it pays, which shows he's had a hard life, had to make do with the simple thing. It explains the weird tattoo on his chest, that Dean had called the anti-possession tattoo. It explains his quick reflexes, and why he can move so quietly even though he's a giant.  
He downs the rest of his beer and gets ready for bed. For the first time in four months, he dreams.

_His brother was lying on a table, while Sam was held to the wall by Lilith's power. Lilith smiled and rested her hand on the door handle. "Come on, boys," she said._  
_Dean was dragged off the table by his foot. Sam couldn't see the hounds, could only see the deep gashes their claws were making in Dean's flesh. "_No,_" he shouted. "_Stop, please_." Lilith just smiled sweetly. He struggled to get to his brother, but the power holding him in place was too strong. Dean was screaming on the floor, scrambling to get away, but the hounds kept dragging him back, cutting him up like it was no big deal._  
_Lilith turned to Sam, held her hand up. A blinding white light..._

Sam jerks awake and is out of his bed in under a second, his back pressed against the wall, his chest heaving, his heart pounding against his ribcage and his eyes scanning the room for danger.  
He slides to the floor with his head in his hands when he realizes he's safe. "Fuck," he breathes. Just a dream. He takes a few deep breaths.  
Well, one thing's for certain now: Dean was telling the truth. There is no way that dream could've been so vivid, so real if it hadn't been a memory. He'd felt love for Dean, fear of losing him, hatred for Lilith.  
It's all true._ Fuck, it's all true._  
Before he's made the conscious decision to do so, he tugs on his jeans and a T-shirt, takes his keys and all but slams the door behind him.  
In front of door 12, his brain catches up with him and he stops, his hand still raised in an aborted attempt at a knock. Dean is probably asleep. He should come back tomorrow.  
But before he can even lower his arm, the door swings open, and Dean all but crashes into him. They look at each other for a moment, and then Dean is suddenly against him, his arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Jesus, _Sammy_," Dean breathes, and for now, it doesn't matter that they're practically complete strangers, so Sam hugs him back, the dream still in his mind.


	6. Author's note

**Hey there my precious readers!**

**Thank you so much for reading this story and liking it (or not).**

**I really appreciate all the people that follow this story.**

**As you may have noticed, I haven't updated this in a while. This is because I've been really busy with school, art and theatre, and frankly, I haven't had much inspiration either. **

**I promise I won't abandon this, because I'm writing this for a prompt and I'm not one to break my promises. But it'll probably be a while before I update this again.**

**I promise I'm trying my best but right now, it's not really good enough for me.**

**XXX**

**Impalas-Wings**

**PS. This story will also be posted on AO3 because I like that site better. No offence.**


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